At length day began to dawn, and the fugitives commenced to cast sidelong glances at their new companion.  He was a tall, slimly-built youth, apparently but little older than Frank, and his boyish face wore a look of care and sorrow, which if once seen could never be forgotten, and which showed that, young as he was, his path through life had been any thing but a smooth one.  His clothing was reduced almost to tatters; but still there was enough of it left to show that it was “Uncle Sam’s blue;” and, as Frank surveyed him from head to foot, he discovered something hanging to one of the shreds of his coat, which immediately interested him in the silent stranger.  It was a navy button.  This was enough for Frank, who, forgetting the manner in which his advances had been received, inquired: 

“Are you a naval officer, sir?”

“Yes,” answered the youth, in a low voice, “or, rather, I was once.”

“So was I. Give us your hand.”

The sad, gloomy look gave way to a smile of genuine pleasure, as the stranger grasped the proffered hand, and shook it heartily.

“What vessel were you attached to, and when and how were you captured?” inquired Frank.

But his companion had relapsed into his former state of gloominess and silence, and seemed to be pondering upon something at once painful and interesting.

Frank made no further attempts to draw him into conversation, and, just as the sun was rising, the major gave the order to halt.  He also had noticed the sorrowful look of the young stranger, and, attributing it to a depression of spirits, which any one would feel at finding himself in such circumstances, addressed him, as he came up, with: 

“My friend, you appear to be sorely troubled about something.  Cheer up; it does no good to be despondent.  I know our case is desperate, but it is not altogether hopeless.  We do not intend to be recaptured, as long as one of us has strength to draw a trigger.”

“I am not troubled about that, sir,” answered the youth, throwing himself wearily on the ground.  “The cause of my sorrow dates further back than my capture and confinement in prison.  I know that I am not the only one who has suffered during this rebellion; but mine is a peculiar case.  I have not known a happy day since the war commenced.  Every tie that bound me to earth was severed when the first gun was fired on Fort Sumter.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Frank, guessing the truth at once.  “Then your relatives are rebels.”

“Yes, they are; and the most bitter kind of rebels, too.  I have kept my secret until I can no longer endure it.  I have become completely discouraged, and am greatly in need of what I at first shunned—­sympathy.  If you will bear with me, I will tell you my circumstances.  It will serve to relieve me, and may interest you, and prove that I am really what I profess to be, an escaped prisoner.”

“Certainly, let us hear it.  Go on,” said the major.